


Get What You Wish For

by Asreoniplier (AsreonInfusion)



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series), markiplier - Fandom
Genre: AFAB reader - Freeform, Altered Mental States, F/M, Hallucinations, Hypnotism, Mild S&M Dynamics, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mind Control, Mind Sex, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 15:15:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17205800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsreonInfusion/pseuds/Asreoniplier
Summary: Dark can’t be with the reader in person, but keeps them entertained for the night... by drugging them with his auras and hypnotising/mind controlling them into feeling like they’re being possessed and fucked by invisible demonic entities. It’s a fun time.





	Get What You Wish For

**Author's Note:**

> ...if anyone reading follows me elsewhere and happens to think something about this story sounds familar, yes this is probably what you think it is, and also. _Don’t. Say. A. Word._ >>;;;
> 
> Some embellishments were made, obviously.
> 
>  **Warnings:**  
>  \- Minor dubcon warning? Because the reader didn’t know what they were getting into at the start, and there’s a moment they realise they can’t really stop it if they did happen to want to, but mostly they’re pretty into it.  
> \- All the things mentioned in the summary about hypno/mind control/hallucinations; very big on the altered mental state.  
> \- Brief mention of vomiting, but it does’t actually happen or anything.  
> \- AFAB!Reader, no pronouns.

“Dark,” you murmur, lips grazing against Dark’s knuckles where his fingers are twined with yours. You knew he had to go. But you didn’t want him to.

“Come now, pet.”

You’re comfortable resting against his chest. This was all still fairly new, and maybe you were being a little clingy, but… you loved him. It had only been a few weeks since you’d finally acknowledged that. Not that you’d only known him that long; you’d known Dark, had his attention, for many months. Almost a year. More. You’d been sensible at the start, wary of him like you should have been. But at the same time, he was so alluring, so flattering. And when you’d finally agreed to a date with him, you realised he honestly, truly made you happy.

He _shouldn’t_. You didn’t know how he could. But there was no hiding the way he made you smile like a giddy fool, the warmth that bubbled up in your chest around him.

“I’d do anything for you. I’m yours. You know that, right?”

He has you so completely, utterly hooked.

“Aren’t you precious,” Dark says. He slides his hands down to your waist, lifting you and shifting you from his lap to sit on the edge of the bed instead. He kisses your forehead as he stands.

“I want to belong to you, completely.”

He smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. It never does; that doesn’t bother you anymore.

“I have other business to attend to.”

“I know.”

“But.” He pauses, something calculating and intrigued in the way he looks at you. “Perhaps something could be arranged.”

Dark grips your jaw, then tilts your head back and kisses you firmly. You moan into the kiss; at first just from surprised pleasure, then again as you feel… something. Not just Dark’s tongue stroking against the inside of your mouth, but something more. Slick and staticky, like an extension of Dark’s auras. His black essence, filling your mouth and your throat until you feel like you’re going to choke on it. You have no choice but to swallow.

When you do, Dark finally releases you and you fall back from him, panting.

“Um. Wow. What was…?”

Dark only smirks. “Later, pet.”

He brushes his lips against yours once more before straightening up again and brushing down his suit. He turns, raising a hand in farewell.

“A-alright,” you murmur. You hate seeing him leave, but it won’t be for very long. Only a day or two, and he promised to call you in the evening.

Dark vanishes into the void, leaving you alone in your apartment again. You brush your fingers against your lips, maybe a little unsettled, but anticipation outweighs any worries you might have. Despite all better judgement, you trust him.

Later, he says.

* * *

You should be focusing more, getting some actual work done, but your mind keeps wandering. It’s getting late, and you can’t stop yourself glancing over at the phone far too regularly while you try to make yourself at least somewhat useful with packing and tidying the apartment.

Your heartbeat feels like it’s a little too fast, a tremble in your fingers.

Soon, right? Is Dark thinking of you?

You’re thinking of him.

You’ve been thinking of him ever since he left, about that kiss, about… whatever it was he did. Maybe you’re just imagining things, knowing he must have _something_ intended, but you’ve felt slightly off ever since. Face a little flushed, but the rest of your body feels cold. Your fingers and toes especially. You’d got up to pace, trying to walk off the threatening tingle of impending pins and needles, but it doesn’t seem to be helping much.

Lost in your own thoughts, you give a slight start when the phone finally rings. You smile and scramble to answer.

“Hey, Dark—”

“Puppet,” he greets. Only it’s not quite a greeting. There’s something immediately commanding in his tone that sends shivers through you.

“Listen to me, and only me.”

His voice has you hooked immediately. Cloying, demanding. “Y-yes, sir,” you say, breathing out in a heavy rush. You don’t know what exactly this game is all of a sudden, but you’re interested.

And you try to focus on listening to him, you really do. But the exact words don’t seem to matter. It’s just low and even and comforting, and you have the weird sensation of simultaneously relaxing while your pulse picks up rapidly.

“Dark…?” you try to question. His name comes out slightly slurred.

“You wanted to belong to me, didn’t you?” Dark purrs. “It’s about time you learned just what you’re asking for.”

“I…”

You can’t focus enough to speak. Every time a thought enters your head, it slips away from you before you can fully grasp it. Mind clouding, and all you can hear is Dark’s voice. The pins and needles you thought you’d felt before are back, worse than before; only it’s not quite pins and needles because it doesn’t hurt the same way. It just feels… numb. Staticky. Too heavy, like it’s a struggle to move your limbs. And the sensation is creeping through you more and more, until it’s flooding your entire body. Your fingers twitch, but you’re certain you had no intention to move them.

“Give me control,” Dark says. A command like velvet steel. “Let me in.”

It curls around your head like a delicate vice; the static, the tightness.

What the _hell_ is he doing to you?

You swallow hard. Your pulse is fluttering far too fast now and this is… it’s not right? You can’t feel your body properly, and you stumble as you try to stand. As if you could walk it off, just like you were trying to when you thought it was something as mundane as pins and needles.

Dark calls your name, and you immediately freeze. Standing in the middle of the room, and _you can’t move_. Not under your own control, anyway. Your body shudders, muscles twitching and convulsing, and it’s only getting worse. Until you’re trembling, shaking with it; like some kind of demon possession out of a goddamn horror movie, and your breath catches raggedly in your throat because who’s to say that isn’t exactly what’s going on.

“ _S u r r e n d e r._ ”

But it’s Dark. This is for Dark. Right? It’s… it’s fine.

It’s fine.

Even though your mind feels completely hazed and you can’t move, and his voice washes over you and drags you under until you feel like you’re drowning in it.

Except that you _can_ move. Only you didn’t exactly intend to. Your arm lifts, almost of its own accord, and you find yourself gripping your own throat.

Your hand is cold. That’s right, you remember you’d been feeling cold even before Dark rang, but it’s so much more noticeable now. And even though you _know_ it’s only your own hand, it’s only you there, the temperature difference makes it feel so convincingly like someone else’s. (Like Dark’s. He always tends to run a few degrees colder than any normal person.) Your messed up, scrambled brain tries to fill in the blanks, and somehow the sensation warps until you could swear the hand gripping you is larger and stronger than your own would ever be in reality.

The grip isn’t quite tight enough to choke you, but it’s restricting the blood supply to your brain and leaving you gasping and feeling lightheaded.

You can’t pull away. Can’t let go. You manage to wrest back enough control to lift your other hand, gripping your own wrist as if you could try to pull away the hand that’s choking you, but that’s as far as you get.

Dizzy and shaking and helpless, and you can’t quite breathe enough. Everything feels so numb and staticky. Convulsions wracking your body, and you try to call out for Dark but your tongue is too heavy and lifeless.

You’re choking yourself out and you can’t _stop._

You gasp, head falling back and more shudders running through you. Your hips jerk, and—that’s new. It’s not in your control at all, you’re not _doing_ this, but you find yourself rolling your hips, grinding against nothing, and it feels—

It feels like Dark is there, like he’s choking you and rubbing between your legs at the same time. And just like how you _know_ it’s only your own hand, but your brain is so very convincing at making it feel otherwise, it’s the same for this. The sensations flooding through you are all too real.

“D-dark,” you groan.

“That’s it, pet. Do you understand now?”

You must look insane. Hand wrapped around your own throat, hips jerking helplessly, trying to get more of a delicious friction that isn’t even really there. But oh, god, it feels like it is, and your legs are trembling beneath the onslaught of sensation. He can make you do anything, _feel_ anything.

It feels good.

You can’t fight it. Don’t want to fight it, really. You let it happen, let the white noise take over your mind. Grinding down as if against Dark’s fingers, letting him do whatever he likes to you. Face flushed and head tilted back as if you’re offering your throat to him, and it’s embarrassing just how quickly you can feel yourself soaking through your panties.

His puppet. His little puppet, to control and use however he pleases.

God, you’ve never felt it more than in this moment.

“Dark,” you gasp in warning. You… you don’t know how long you can keep standing. Your legs are shaking so hard, knees feeling weak. Please. You can’t even say the words – even getting out his name was so much fucking effort – but you mentally beg him to let you lie down, or even just lean against something. Anything.

“Bed,” Dark commands. And you’re more than happy to comply.

Throat finally released, you desperately gulp in air as you stumble forward. You can’t even tell how much of it is your own actions and how much is Dark controlling you; attempting to even walk that far is clumsy and uncoordinated, like a marionette jerking on its strings. You pick up the phone on the way, tossing it haphazardly onto the bedside table.

You crawl onto the bed after it, head lolling forward and immediately burying into the pillow with a quiet moan. You don’t even get to lie down, you’re just on your chest and knees and it feels like—fuck. It’s in your head, you know it is. Just in your head, and the movement of your own hips that’s out of your control, but it immediately feels like getting fucked from behind.

Feels so very, very convincingly like getting fucked from behind, by some kind of invisible demonic entity.

You brokenly moan Dark’s name. Can’t cry out, you don’t have enough control for that. Even being able to breathe freely, your head is still spinning. Your body so damn heavy, full of static. All you can do is lie there and let Dark use you. Or let Dark make you feel like being used. Your head is too empty to work out exactly what’s happening, it just…

It won’t stop. It feels like getting pounded into, over and over. And you’re wet enough you can feel your own slick trickling down the inside of your thighs, desperate for it, but there’s no real relief to be had.

And you wanted this. Didn’t you? Wanted to belong to Dark, wanted to be controlled completely by him. Be used by him.

But as your pulse and breathing quicken, quiet, helpless mewls the only sound you’re capable of making, all your old fears start to come rushing back. How this was _wrong_ , that Dark was a monster, he’d only hurt you, use you, _why the hell would you ever trust him_.

It’s getting overwhelming. Too much. You can’t _stop_ , you can’t make this stop. What if it goes too far, if he doesn’t—

You don’t want to think about that.

 _Can_ you make it stop? Maybe… If you focus hard enough, you can still the tremors running through you. Wrest back control.

With a gasp and a sob, you shove yourself up onto your hands and throw your legs over the side of the bed. Sitting upright, arms wrapped around yourself as if you can really hold yourself together like that, and for a few short moments it works.

“Why are you fighting me, puppet?” Dark purrs.

You grab the phone, holding it in a shaky fist. You think about just ending the call, but… you don’t think it’d help all that much. It’s too late, you’re in too deep to stop this now. “What the hell did you do to me?!”

He only _laughs_ , and the sound of it sends chills through you. It’s getting harder and harder to hold on; you bounce your legs, trying to dispel the static gathering in your veins, but the shaking is only getting worse again. Building up, and the longer you fight it the more insistent it becomes.

“ _L e t  m e  i n._ ”

You have no choice. You’re already his.

“Dark,” you sob. And then you break.

The moment you let go, the moment you surrender to him, the force of the convulsions flings you back down onto the bed. And you can _feel_ it, his grip around your wrists and the way he lifts your hips and shoves into you like he’s claiming you.

It’s a good thing it’s only his puppet-like control over you and he’s not actually there, because if he _was_ fucking you like that in person you wouldn’t be walking for a week.

You can’t move your body at all; he has you completely under his spell, and it feels like being pinned down more completely than you’ve ever experienced in your life. Pinned down and fucked, and the force of each thrust – of your own movements, really, even though it’s not within your control at all – sends the bed slamming back against the wall.

The only thought in your head is his name, repeated over and over in a desperate litany. Even that is fading out, falling into the endless white noise and the ringing in your ears.

You’re so deep under, mind so empty, it’s as good as being passed out completely. Awareness is fleeting, and when you do gather enough of your brainpower to recognise what’s happening, it’s only pleasure. Relentless, wracking through your body. Eyes rolling back, saliva trailing from the corner of your mouth. Several times you come to in a different position and you don’t know how you got there. But the sensation of being fucked and used is always the same.

All you know is Dark. Dark, Dark, _Dark_.

You’re losing whole chunks of time, and you don’t even know how long it’s been, but it’s still not _stopping_ and there’s only so much your body can take.

“D…ark…” you beg shakily. Weakly. “Please. I…”

You need a break. Every muscle is still straining and trembling, shaking in Dark’s control, and it aches. You’re starting to feel nauseous.

Your heart is pounding way too fast, body feeling like it’s overheating, and you can feel bile rising in your throat. In a distant sort of way. You can feel it, but you have so little control over your own body like this that your gag reflex is gone entirely.

Fuck. You have to—have to stay awake, stay aware. The chill of fear running down your spine helps with that, at least. Does Dark even realise? Does he _care?_ He probably doesn’t even think of such petty and crass aspects of human biology. If you pass out like this and end up actually being sick, and can’t even retch it up…

He wouldn’t let you die. He couldn’t. Could he? It would be such a fucking shitty way to go too.

The thought is sobering enough that you manage to force yourself up, scrambling off the bed. It shows just how much of a goddamn whore for him you are that even like this you take the time to pick up the phone and take it with you.

Your knees buckle the moment you stand, sending you careening into the wall, but at least the wall gives you something to lean on and push against as you stumble for the sink. You’re… you’re _fine_ , it’s okay, you’re not going to throw up. You just need to _focus_ and swallow down the sick sensation in the pit of your stomach, only that’s not so easy to do when every aspect of your goddamn existence is being wiped away by Dark’s will.

You don’t throw up, in the end. Just standing and moving helps a lot, a moment of awareness to ground you back to reality. Even though you can already feel yourself slipping again.

God… what if this goes badly? What if everything was a mistake? You’re _scared_. You don’t think Dark would _break_ you like that but who’s to say honestly, maybe he would, maybe this whole thing is just a test to see if you’re even worth claiming as his.

You want to belong to him. And you hardly mind being his puppet. You wanted this, you asked for it.

But you don’t want to die either.

The thought crosses your mind. You could go for help. Maybe you should. But where would you even go? You don’t know anyone, you can’t let anyone see you like this. A trembling, fucked out mess. You’re only wearing panties and a thin t-shirt with nothing underneath, you’d need to get dressed, make sure you had your keys, keep your concentration long enough to try and explain, and then when your focus inevitably slipped you’d just feel Dark all over you again and—no. You _can’t_.

You brace yourself against the counter and try to even out your breathing.

You’re not sure if it’s the moment of panic being enough to sober you, or if Dark’s actually backed off a little, but you retain enough clarity to hold yourself together until the nausea subsides. You finally raise your head to look in the mirror and—god, you’re a wreck. Pupils blown wide, face slack and eyes blank. And maybe you’re just imagining it, maybe it’s just a trick of the shitty light, but you could swear it looks like you have almost the same dark rings around your eyes that Dark does. Maybe they’re just bruised and sunken. That seems more likely, but you can’t help but stare at your reflection and see some part of Dark looking back at you.

You swallow. Slowly, not as intense as before, your hips roll against the air. The trembling spasms in your muscles start to creep back in, replacing the fear as that fades out. It’s taking over again, and fighting it will only delay the inevitable.

While you’re still coherent enough to respond, Dark speaks. “Record this for me, pet.”

“…what…?”

“I want to see you. I want _you_ to see. Take your phone and record exactly what you look like being used as my toy.”

You don’t have enough thought in your head to even realise that not doing as says is an option. It _isn’t_ an option. You flick your phone over to the camera and prop it against the wall. It takes a few tries to hit record, your finger shaking as you attempt to touch the screen in the right place to start it off.

You try to watch, but your arm and head both drop as a shudder of pleasure rolls through you. It might have been slow at first, easing you back into it, but the intensity is picking up again and it’s—it’s exactly like being bent over the counter and fucked from behind, Dark’s grip on your hips pulling you back to meet him, moving in time with his thrusts.

You can only moan and surrender to it all over again.

There are still those fleeting moments when you find the strength to raise your head, just for a few seconds, and try to watch the recording. There’s a timer on the bottom; you can see exactly how much you’re losing. Five minutes at a time. Ten, fifteen. Whole sections of memory that you don’t have, that you’re too out of your mind to even recall.

And when you can focus enough to glance at your face… fuck. Puppet. You’re so much his puppet, expression so blank and helpless. Under his spell, completely hypnotised.

Your breathing is ragged, panting in time to the imaginary thrusts taking you from behind. Needy little moans and whines that you can’t control, that you’re barely even aware you’re making.

It feels good, there’s no way you can deny that. Your thighs are slick with how physically aroused you are. But you can’t orgasm. That’s not the point of this. Your mind is suspended in an endless state of pleasure, of helplessness, of surrender to Dark. Overstimulated and needy and utterly subservient to him.

He owns you completely. And you’re finally beginning to truly comprehend what that means.

Exhaustion catches up first; your legs are shaking again. Even braced against the counter, it’s too much for too long. You catch a glance of the time as you look up to the recording again. Past midnight. More than four hours since Dark called, since this started, and god, is it any wonder you’re a trembling wreck?

You’re only vaguely aware of ending up back in bed; you don’t remember how you got there. You’re not aware of anything apart from the sensation of hands parting your thighs again, told in the cold static tingles that are the only real physical thing you can feel, and your hips bucking as your personal invisible demonic entity fucks into you again.

Awareness is even more fleeting that before. You don’t remember anything, only a few small fragments of sensation. It won’t stop. Dark won’t stop. You can’t make it _stop_.

You must pass out for good at some point, because the next time you stir back to consciousness there’s light blossoming behind the window blinds.

Light… morning.

Fuck.

All the events of last night start to feel surreal in the light of day. Except that you’re still shaking.

You curl into yourself with a groan, brain swimming through a hazed fog as you try to remember. God. What the hell was _that?_

Dark.

It was Dark, he’d called you and—

You roll over. The phone is on your bedside table again. The lights are off as well; Dark must have made you do that, because you definitely didn’t have enough mind left to think of it yourself.

His call to you ended sometime during the early hours of the night.

Oh, but how naïve if you actually thought it was over.

You were already shaking when you woke up, but it only gets _worse_ , not better. You pick up the phone, fingers twitching and trembling even as you try to catch up on messages and whatever you may have missed during the night, as if it were any other ordinary day. A small moment of playing pretend, that everything’s fine.

It’s not as bad as it was yesterday, easier to ignore now, but it’s still there. The static. The heaviness, the numbness creeping through your limbs. Cloyingly threatening to drag you down again.

Your grip on your phone tightens. It… it should be done by now, surely? You were just going to sleep it off and be finished with it. You had things you needed to get done today, but—

The phone nearly falls as a shudder wracks your whole body, hand twitching and spasming as well. No more. Please, fuck, Dark, no more. But you can’t fight it, you know how well that goes. So with a moan of surrender you drop your phone and collapse back down into bed.

You close your eyes and shiver as it washes over you. It doesn’t have the same vice-like hold around your mind anymore; no, now you get the pleasure of being fully aware of just how much of a little puppet, how much of a little toy to be used you are. The spasms and convulsions taking hold, as if you were glitching in real life, while your hips start to jerk and—

At least this time it’s not as intense. It is _starting_ to wear off, at least a little. Maybe. It feels more like slower, sensual, morning-after sex now. And you have enough control over your own body that you can raise your arms above your head at stretch out, surrendering to the sensation.

You drift in and out, half asleep again, then waking to roll over and moan, lifting your hips in offering.

You mutter Dark’s name, lips parted and eyes glazed.

Dark… should you try to call him back?

Your fingers clumsily scrabble for the phone, hovering over the screen. You could try to call Dark, or—there was the video. That’s right. You took video last night, didn’t you? You can remember some of it, flashes of memory, but there’s so many gaps in your recollection where you lost awareness completely.

You want to see.

Focusing isn’t so hard now. Even though you’re still shaking, even though you find yourself slowly grinding into the mattress and you can’t control that without a lot more effort, you still have enough presence of mind to open up your phone’s gallery and watch the playback.

It raises hairs of the back of your neck.

Not only did last night _feel_ like getting fucked by some kind of invisible demonic entity version of Dark, it also damn well looks and sounds like it too. And you’ve never exactly watched yourself get fucked before. There’s something like shame – because god, you look like such a little slut – but the greater response in your mind is one of fascination.

You love the way it looks. Love belonging to Dark, being so utterly hypnotised and controlled by him. And you can see the evidence of exactly that, it’s right here, it _happened_. The absolute blankness in your eyes, in the moments you could even look at the camera; more often your eyes would just roll back and clench shut again, mouth falling open in helpless moans. You were begging at one point, soft whispers of ‘ _please_ ’ that you have no recollection of saying at all.

It should be terrifying. You were so completely out of your goddamn mind, getting fucked like Dark’s own personal little whore. Just by his power over you, whatever the hell he did to your head. But you can’t stop watching, enrapt.

So picture perfect, hips bucking into every non-corporeal, hallucinated thrust into you, whole body arching with the force of it. You’re almost surprise you _don’t_ see Dark – or some shadowed, entity-like representation of him – standing behind you in the video. But, no. It really was all in your head. He just has that much control over you.

No one can ever see this. (Except Dark, obviously. If he wanted to.) But… you’re keeping the video.

And maybe it seems almost narcissistic to be into watching yourself, but it’s not so much about _you_. It’s about the proof of Dark’s power, of exactly how he has utter mastery of you. And you always were so pathetically weak for the idea of being used by Dark.

You’re _still_ being used by Dark. The shivers running through your whole body, the way your hips roll and grind into the mattress. You can’t control that at all. The sensation of it, combined with the delicious chills that run through you as you watch last night’s video…

Damnit. You do have enough of yourself back now that you can reach over to the bedside table, fingers fumbling in the drawer as you search for your toy.

You just… you need it, need some kind of relief, something inside you. You’re all worked up again now, raising a hand to cover your mouth as you moan. Just rubbing the tip of the toy against your entrance feels way too good. Imaging it’s Dark.

Imaging it’s Dark as it sinks into you, finally stretching you open. You’re so wet again, so ready for it.

You let the involuntary movements of your hips guide you, only really holding the toy in place while Dark’s influence makes you fuck yourself on it. Softly moaning his name.

It’s not the same, though; you need _him_. The toy is a poor substitute, and your imagination feels bland and lifeless after how damn convincing Dark’s hallucinations were.

Not that it doesn’t feel _good_ , but…

You’re his. You’re only his, and your own practiced self-pleasure feels almost like a violation of his claim. Only Dark is allowed to satisfy you.

You can – and _do_ – bring yourself to orgasm, but it’s not the same mind-shattering, delicious pleasure that Dark can make you feel. It takes some of the edge off, but not enough. It just makes your heart ache even more for Dark to be there with you.

You toss the toy aside, frustrated. You’ll clean it later. But for now your legs are still trembling a little too much for you to want to get up.

Somehow even just the involuntary grind of your hips, against nothing but your own panties, feels better than anything you could do touching yourself. Just because it’s Dark, _knowing_ that it’s Dark. His power possessing you, controlling you, saturating your mind. You roll onto your side and let it take over, revelling in the way the way it makes your whole body shiver.

There were things you needed to do today. Important things. But there’s no way that’s happening now. You’re physically incapable of leaving the apartment.

Besides. Isn’t Dark so much more important than any of that?

In the light of day, and now the effects have lessened enough that you _can_ take control back if you need to, it’s not so scary anymore. Last night was… overwhelming. A little. It was an experience, and you don’t regret it, and maybe the fear even added a delicious touch of spice to the whole thing. But this lower key, softer fucking is what you need to bring you down the morning after.

You stay in bed and enjoy it. Even though you’re not really getting off to it _hard_ , just suspended in a heady, satisfied sort of pleasure, it’s still enjoyable to feel Dark using you like this.

You nap a little more and wake up to the sensation of being gently, slowly fucked. You roll over and pick up your phone, send a few messages to Dark. Curl into the covers and let the convulsions shudder through you, the strength of them diminished now.

It’s only when you realise you’re goddamn starving that you finally make a move to get up. And no wonder – it’s the middle of the afternoon, and you haven’t eaten since a light early dinner yesterday.

Eighteen hours. Damn. Eighteen hours since the whole thing started, and it’s only just worn off to the point you can actually function. Your limbs still tremble if you don’t concentrate enough on something else, but… you can function. Just about.

Your first thought is that you _really_ need a shower.

You run the water colder than usual, trying to clear your head. But you can’t stop thinking about it, about Dark. That was— _god_. That was something alright.

There’s a stupid grin on your face, and you wrap your arms around yourself in delight. He owns you. Dark _owns_ you. Any doubt you may have had about that is long gone.

It shouldn’t please you anywhere near as much as it does.

You towel off, get dressed, try to do something with your hair (because your hair sure _looks_ like you’ve been getting demon fucked for eighteen hours). It’s only a quick trip around to the shops to grab some food – you don’t trust yourself to hold it together for too much longer than that just yet – and then anything else you needed to get done will have to wait. You want to curl up with your laptop and a pile of blankets. Since Dark isn’t around to provide aftercare, that will have to do.

While you’re out, you grab some of the sports drinks with electrolytes and that sort of thing. After the goddamn night you’ve had, you probably need the extra help evening your body back out into some semblance of normalcy.

It’s definitely a self-care sort of evening. You eat, make sure you’ve had enough to drink, rest up. You waste time watching videos and catching up on social media; there’s work that needs doing, but you’re hardly in the best headspace for that. Your brain feels fuzzy around the edges still, and all you can think about is Dark.

Dark. God. He scares you sometimes, maybe even more so knowing what he’s capable of now, but at the same time you finally feel like you honestly, truly understand. You’d played around before, of course. Calling him master, submitting to him. But it feels different now. It’s not a game anymore. You belong to him, and when you roll the title around in your head you feel it so much more genuinely.

You offered him your heart, your submission, yourself. And now you know what it is to have him _take_ that.

Dark.

Master.

You end up staying awake late; you napped so long during the day you don’t feel particularly tired now. You’re glad of that, because it’s past midnight again when you get a message from Dark, asking if you’re still up. If he can come over.

Yes. God, yes, _please_.

You don’t really want to have sex, not tonight. Physically, you’ve barely started to recover. Your body still feels exhausted, weaker than normal and wracked with the last remains of the shivers and twitches.

But you want to see Dark so badly.

His presence is announced with a cold hand placed gently against the back your neck, and delight bubbles up in your chest. You tilt your head back and glance up to find him smiling at you with the warmth still not reaching his eyes, but a smug and satisfied expression on his face. Pleased.

You did well for him, and it makes you melt.

You sink to your knees in front of him in reverence. You belong to him, you love him, you’d give anything for him. “Master,” you greet.

Dark purrs lowly in approval. “Well,” he says, soft and amused. “I’m glad you know your place, pet.”

He hooks a finger beneath your jaw and guides you up, silent permission to stand, and draws you into his arms. There’s no place right then that you’d rather be. Held in his embrace, your willing prison.

Now more than ever, you truly belong to him.


End file.
